


Words in the Night

by Ladylauralue



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:44:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5831356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladylauralue/pseuds/Ladylauralue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rushdi, the "Golden Caliph" has sworn to wed and kill his wives on their wedding night. Princess Belle arrives in court to appease his demands, but each night spins a story for the Caliph's beloved son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was done with wives. Lying, manipulative, cruel women. Finished. His viziers said his plan was crazy, but they’d only seen one side, they hadn’t seen the sabotage, the betrayal. Not only of a husband, but of a father and son as well. Wives couldn’t be trusted, not in his position of power. Within the walls of his palace only one person mattered, his son Baelfire. Everyone else was a nuisance.

He would take a wife as they insisted. And then he’d kill her the next day.

It was the only clarity he could see through his raging, painful anger.

Seated on his throne, the “Golden Caliph” Rushdi glared over the assembled princes and councilors, whispering when they felt he was not looking their way. The doors opened, and everyone went silent, watching and waiting to see who would soon be wed to their death.

A woman entered, flanked on either side by a guard with unfamiliar armor. His own reacted quickly, drawing their sabers, running to the potential threats. Both guards held their hands up, away from their weapons and at a small nod from the woman, allowed their own blades to be taken. Not cowed by this display of power, once her guards were checked and cleared she walked forward, head held high. The long walk gave him time to study the woman. A long dusty blue dress modestly covered her feet, and her arms were bare, unusual for one of the high born women in his kingdom. He thought he saw small glimmers of ornamentation in her loose hair, but she was too far away to be sure. Her throat was bare, and the lower cut of her dress left her shoulders nearly bare, a daring look for court. One guard was lithe, silver pauldrons, breast plate and battle skirts giving some illusion to bulk, and the other was bulkier, and with a duller metal sheen to his armor. He could see by their walk they were meant to be adept at offense as well as defence. Under their armor he could see silver chain mail, and under that, the same dusty blue as their Lady, a sign of allegiance. Both guards wore helmets, but had cloth over their faces so that only their eyes showed. Eyes that seemed to see everything.

Odd, that they would dress to match their Lady, instead of their Prince. Odder still that no Prince was presenting his soon to be bride. Pushing his thoughts aside, he nodded imperiously as they stopped well before the foot of the dais. The woman knelt deeply, defying tradition by lowering herself to the level of a commoner. Both knees were on the ground, and her hands braced before her. It didn’t fit with the haughty poise he had seen her walk with just seconds before. Her guards simply held their right fists overt their hearts and bent a fraction at the waist, as one warrior would to another. From their actions and the collective party’s dress, he placed their origins to his most southern lands. It explained her near utter lack of ornament. His southern lands were industrious, and some of the royal family appreciated a more hands on approach to their people’s affairs. It would appear she was one of them.

When she finally rose, he saw a blush in her cheeks he wasn’t sure had been there before, and what may have been a smirk, but it was gone before he could be sure. She remained silent, waiting for Rushdi to openly acknowledge her, and he gleefully stretched out the silence more than could be understandable by custom. Instead of speaking, he gestured to her to introduce herself.

“Oh Caliph, who’s wisdom is deeper than the waters of the sea. I am Princess Belle, of the Southern Marshlands,” she turned to her guards, first the lithe one, and then the larger one “These are my guards, Mulan, of the Eastern Mountains, and Leroy, from the Northern Forests.”

“ _Your_ guards, dearie? Well, the Marshlands,” he sneered the name “must be doing much better than I thought to give the royals all personal guards.”

The soft laughter that resounded through the court was the reaction he wanted, but the cocked eyebrow and raised chin were not. He wanted her to know her place, her expendability, her weakness, but she didn’t seem to see it, or care.

“Oh Caliph, who’s might exceeds the thunderstorms, their presence is not a sign of prosperity,” She seemed about to say more, but then held her tongue.

Again, silence deepened, but this time, it was curiosity that prompted him, not tradition. Curiosity got the better of him. What could prompt two guards on a pointless mission to protect their lady, when it was well known among the court that such a mission was doomed? Why would they come all this way, when there was nothing they could do to protect her? “What, pray tell, is it a sign of then?”

“Oh Caliph, may your reign ever prosper, their presence is a sign of loyalty and friendship, a gift treasured more than silver or gold or jewels.”

Fury roiled in his gut. What would a woman know of loyalty, or what should be treasured? He stood quickly then, signaling for his court to leave. He descended a few steps, and felt more than heard the presence of his guard, Dove. He came within arms reach of the princess, who met his gaze evenly. Her guards had not left her, but he was confident in the skill of Dove. “Princess, do you understand why you are here?”

“Oh Caliph, may your table always overflow with food, I am here to be your wife.”

The larger guard seemed saddened by the statement, the other seemed angry, but they neither moved nor spoke. “Do you think a Caliph needs a wife, Princess?”

“Oh Caliph, who’s cunning exceeds the fox in the forests, it is not for me to say what a Caliph needs.”

Decorum and court-craft, that’s all her words were. She was laying herself before him, hoping he’d be merciful if she could please him. As though any one could please him. “Walk with me, Princess.”

He escorted her down the airy, open halls, ever aware of their entourage, even as they were far enough that he could be discreet with her. “You are aware of the decree, princess.”

“Oh Caliph-“

“A simple nod will do,” he said, before she could finish. She barely inclined her head, and he gaze stayed forward, but he felt sure he could see a deeper pink tingeing her cheeks now.

“And your father sent you here, alone?” She shook her head slightly. “Alone, but for your guards, then.”

Again, she shook her head.

“Then what?”

“Oh Caliph, who’s curiosity is as insatiable as a desert, I came of my own will, without my father’s consent.”

Rushdi halted, and nearly reached out to grab her before remembering himself and letting his hands oddly flutter to his sides. She had stilled beside him, still not meeting his eye, gaze fixed ahead of her. No words came to mind, his mouth oddly dry, he stared at her, unsure what to do or say. Finally he simply waved her away and walked off in another direction. “We will be wed tonight, Princess,” he said over his shoulder.

He hurried off, with Dove in pursuit before he could hear more of her courtly platitudes. In the back of his mind, he considered that her last answer to him had begun with teasing.

^^^^^

That evening the grand hall was lit with bright fires, incense hung as heavy in the air as the dread of the collected court. All had seen the princess enter, most knew of the southern families, but none knew much else about the daughter of Prince Maurice other than she was beautiful, supposedly well read, and absolutely doomed. The wedding had been solemn, no one wanting to cheer a poor girl’s eventual death. So young! So innocent! How tragic her death would be, meaningless in the coming slaughter.

One would have thought she’d married the love of her life, the way she danced around to the haltingly cheerful music, laughing as her guards did their best to keep up with her and keep their eye on the crowd. People went out of their way to avoid her gaze, her conversation, but she managed to trap a few into hastily spoken words. One young princess wouldn’t meet her eye, turning away quickly in a brush of lush red fabric. A young couple, obviously expecting a child any day now spoke softly to her, the young wife falsely cheerful while the husband was stoic, his jaw clenched as though he wanted to say more than he felt able to.

From his view atop his throne, Rushdi brooded, his eyes never leaving his… wife. Wife, the thought settled distastefully in his mind. She had never looked away from him, throughout the whole ceremony. Her hand in his was small, soft, and he felt her, more than once squeeze her fingers around his. Her face was ashy under the kohl and rouge and her jaw was clenched, but her eyes never left his face. She wore a darker blue dress and silver bangles around her wrist. Her hair was threaded with delicate wires, on which hung freshwater pearls, the prize of the Marshlands. He was convinced she was terrified, but only up close would he have been able to tell. Now, as she danced and laughed with her guards for lack of partners, he could almost wish she wasn’t his wife, but a member of court. But she had volunteered to marry him, and that kept him from softening towards her.

He hardly listened to the ceremony, mindlessly parroting his words as he turned over why a princess would needlessly sacrifice herself. He wouldn’t be merciful to her kingdom. He wouldn’t be cruel, either, but that wasn’t the point. She would be dead by tomorrow, and her kingdom would be down an heir. Simple as that, and he would find another wife. After this one—he couldn’t think of her by name—no one would be volunteering, but as Caliph, that wasn’t too important.

She came up to the throne, picking up the hem of her skirt as she took the steps two at a time. Her guards followed behind her and he thought he could hear heavy breathing. Throwing herself into the chair beside him, she laughed. How could she laugh? She confused him at every turn.

“Oh Caliph,” she broke off, catching her breath “who’s splendor outshines the stars in the heavens, why don’t you join the festivities? It has been a very long time since there was dancing in the palace”

Five years, in fact. The last party had been celebrating Baelfire’s first year of life. His wife had found another reason to celebrate, and had never joined him in their chambers again. He ignored it as long as he could, and then he’d never needed to again.

“How can you be happy?” he hissed.

She turned to look at him, head cocked to the side, but was prevented from telling him when a small blur of green and gold ran to him. “Papa!”

The blood drained from his face. His son was only six, but he understood the idea of wife, mother, and weddings. He was meant to be kept from here, on today of all days. Rushdi looked around for the nursemaid, and found her to the side, sheepish blonde wringing her hands. She hastily tiptoed to the dais, but didn’t approach. Baelfire had his arms wrapped around his chest, and it took every ounce of control he had to not respond. Treacherous members of court knew he valued his son as an heir, but not that he valued him more than his own life. He would make sure they would never know. More brusquely than he wanted to, he pushed Baelfire away, taking in his outfit. “Bae, you should be in bed. It’s late, and lessons are tomorrow.”

“I know papa, but I wanted to see what all the music was about. We’ve never had music here,” he turned to see Belle and immediately drew away. “Who are you?”

“Little Caliph,” she said, immediately straightening up and giving him her full attention “who’s imagination stretches farther than the winding rivers, I am Princess Belle, of the Southern Marshlands.”

Bae immediately warmed up and stepped a little closer. “I’ve heard about them. In my studies,” He stepped a little closer “Are there really monsters taller than a grown man in the waters there?”

“Little Caliph, may you never grow restless, there are, and more. Snakes that can snatch up a young man or woman and swallow them whole. Lizards that can spit poison and beetles the size of your hand!” She lifted her hand up quickly, making a claw, giggling when Bae laughed at her antics.

“Are you scared to live there?” Bae asked, stepping close enough to touch her. Mischievously, the princess leaned in. She simply shook her head, grinning at the little boy. “Why not?”

“Little Caliph, who smiles brighter than the moon,” Bae laughed at that “My mother taught me how to beat them. With stories.”

Rushdi pulled Bae away gently. “Princess, if you could leave my son and I, and rejoin the festivities.”

Belle stood and bowed, before twirling away, guards in pursuit.

“Papa, can you get Princess Belle to tell me a story? Please?”

Bae rarely asked Rushdi for much, happier with less, with simple things.

“One story.” Rushdi agreed.

Bae beamed and hugged his papa again. Rushdi watched as the Princess danced away. One night. He could put off her death for one night.


	2. Chapter 2

The party ended around midnight, not uncommon for a party, but in conflict with the forced joy of this uncommon party. Rushdi walked with Belle—the Princess—to Bae’s quarters, as Bae ran ahead. Before entering the room Rushdi took her by the arm, pulling he close to him. “You will only tell my son the story, and then you will leave.”

“Oh Caliph, who shields his son from the ugliness of the world, I understand.”

“Why do you still do that?” Rushdi asked in a hiss. “As my Calipha, you are my equal.”

She took a deep breath as she met his eyes. “I may be the Calipha in title, but I am not yours. I am not anyone’s. You and I both know this union is a farce, and the end is already written.”

She tugged her arm out of Rushdi’s hand and turned to walk into the room. “Little Caliph, who’s mischief rivals the ravens, have you ever heard of the The Sixty-Two Curses of Caliph Arenschadd?”

“No!” Bae cried eagerly. “Who was he? What kind of curses?”

Rushdi turned away as he heard her begin to talk of a young daughter to the Caliph’s advisor. “When the Caliph cursed someone, he didn’t just curse the offender, he cursed their whole family…”

When she had confronted him about their marriage he had noticed her eyes were blue, the same shade as the dress she had first come to his court with.

^^^^^

He found himself pacing his balcony, watching the silent city sleep away. The chill in the night air cut through the heat given off by the braziers, but he welcomed the discomfort. He should be in there, making sure Bae was safe, but he wasn’t. If he was honest with himself, he was avoiding her.

It had been a few years since he had been to the Marshlands, but he didn’t think they were as uninhibited as the Princess. He rather thought he remembered reserve being a defining characteristic in court. But Belle was, laughter and smiles, and – he couldn’t help but remember – beautiful arms and eyes.

This was what wives did. Get under the skin, disable the defenses, and then—no, he wouldn’t think on it.

He sat at his table, looking over papers until he realized he hadn’t retained a single inquiry or report from any advisor. Standing in a huff, he walked out into the darkened halls, anxious to expend his energy. He didn’t know where his feet were taking him until he stood outside the door of his son’s room, listening for the story that was being told within.

“And then what happened?” Bae asked.

“Well, Little Caliph, more curious than any cat, the Caliph cursed her. Zalfrat!” Belle cried, causing Bae to shout with delight. “She didn’t feel any different, but when she opened her eyes, she saw that her father and mother were green.”

“What?”

“Well, you see, as powerful as the Caliph was, he could only lay one curse on a person at a time. When he cast that curse, the lycanthropy disappeared. And because of the trouble of the curse of lycanthropy, he issued a new proclamation. Instead of a new curse, he and his advisors decided that it would be best if instead of new curses, he would simply curse everyone to be blue. The angrier they made him, the bluer they would get, and the longer it would last.”

“Blue? Really, Princess Belle?” Bae asked.

Rushdi looked into the room to see the Princess make an X over her heart “Truly, Little Caliph, may your belief outlast the stars in the sky. And because no one was in danger, or inhibited by the curses, things were able to move along at a much better pace in the kingdom.”

“I’m glad he changed the curses. It would be fun to be a wolf, but it could get really dangerous, huh?”

Belle simply nodded and stood, “And now, Little Caliph, who’s wonder is more precious than any jewel, I must leave you, and you must go to sleep,” Bae nodded and stood up as well. Rushdi noticed they had made a nest of pillows on the floor, something his son hadn’t done in months.

“Will you be here tomorrow, Princess Belle?”

With her face turned away from Baelfire, he didn’t see the sadness in her face, but Rushdi did. She composed herself and turned to face him, “I am sorry, Little Caliph, may your nights be filled with the sweetest dreams. I cannot stay.”

“If I ask my father, he’ll make it so you can stay.”

“Little Cali-“

“Please Belle!” Rushdi was shocked at the informality, but not as shocked as he was by the pleading tone in his father’s voice. “Please. No one else tells me stories like you do. No one even talks to me like you do. Please, I’ll make him let you stay.”

She walked over to him, and crouched down until she could look into his eyes. “Little Caliph, who’s heart is guarded like a tiger’s cub, I do not think it would be wise to ask this of your father.”

Rushdi walked in before this could get any harder for his son, or for _her_. “Ask me what, Princess Belle?”

She immediately bowed to him before straightening up “Oh Caliph, may the fires in your hearth never dim, your son, may his smile last forever, wished for me to stay another night, to tell him stories.”

Before he could answer her with a sharp “no” Baelfire pleaded with him “Father, her stories are like magic!”

“There’s no such thing as magic,” he snapped.

“My Caliph!” Belle cried “May your patience be ever tempered.”

Rushdi didn’t speak, shocked into silence, as it seemed, was Belle.

She swallowed, and he watched her throat, fair and so vulnerable. He waited for her to speak. “I may be a temporary visitor here, but I cannot let you speak so harshly to a child. It is our dreams and hopes that help us to live day to day. To crush that in a child is one of the worst things a parent or guardian can do. I will not stand for that. I wont.”

“Then perhaps you should be on your way. You were in such a rush to leave.”

Belle went white, clenched her jaw and walked out, forgetting to bow and with a definite stomp in her step.

Rushdi watched her leave, before turning at a tug on his pants. “Papa, please. Let her stay just one more night?”

Rudshi looked out into the hall, as if he could still see the princess. “Baelfire…”

His son looked down, his hand dropping. Rudshi sighed. “One night.”

“Thank you, papa.”

“Get to bed now, Baelfire. Sleep well,” He ruffled his son’s hair, treasuring the small connection to his son.

“Goodnight papa.” Baelfire said as he scurried off. “Thank you.”

^^^^^

He found her within her chambers, a small visitors room far from his own quarters. Before he walked through, he listened.

“Come on Belle. We’re not leaving you.” It was a gruff male voice, and he nearly stormed in before he remembered she had her personal guards.

“If we can’t save you, we will be with you until the end. We owe you at least that much.” A female voice. Did she have a lady in waiting with her? He looked through the open door, and saw that both guards had removed their masks. The larger one was obviously male, scruff thick on his chin, the other was a stern form of beautiful, and must have been the female voice “Don’t send us away, please.” The both stood above Belle, who was hunched down on a plush couch.

She didn’t respond, and he noticed her shoulders shaking erratically. “I don’t know if I can go through with it if you two are there.” She wiped at her face. “I thought I was doing the brave thing, but it just feels foolhardy now.”

The man seemed about to say something but his fellow guard hit his chest before he got any words out. She knelt at Belle’s feet. “You wanted to…” she muddled over her next words “to see if you could do something.”

“What? What did I possibly think I was doing?” She was nearly yelling. The man joined her side, wrapping an arm around her. Before he could say anything she started sobbing loudly. “I’m so frightened, Leroy!”

Her companions didn’t speak, they only wrapped their arms around her tightly. Rushdi was awed by their devotion. He was an intruder, and worse. Before the tightening in his gut got any worse, he walked in.

Both guards stood up and stepped back. Belle turned to face him, tears still running down your eyes. She turned away and tried to dry her eyes before turning back, head held high. “Oh Caliph, may your lands always prosper, what would you have of me?”

“Leave us,” he commanded her guards. He was surprised when they turned to her before they left. “Your guards are loyal. More than any one’s I’ve ever seen, outside of my own guards.”

Belle nodded, but said nothing. “Tell me why?” He did not mean to phrase it as a question, but somehow he slipped.

“Caliph, who’s whims are commands to all who hear, surely you understand how loyalty is given, not bought?” He nodded. “I befriended them, helped them through their troubles. The only thing they felt they could truly give me was protection,” sinking back to the couch. “Mulan was a warrior in the Eastern Mountains when I saved her from a yagoai. The myth is that they’re terrible beasts who will destroy or devour anyone in their path. Some will, when they’re sick, or angry enough. But most are simply defending their territory. It just takes courage, you need to know how to handle yourself in a situation.” She paused, becoming aware of how much she was speaking. She looked him in the eye and he nodded for her to continue. “I’d read about the creatures of the East before we traveled there. When our paths crossed, she was cornered by a yagoai who had been hurt in a trap. She didn’t know she was antagonizing it when she fought him off, because she couldn’t see his hind legs. I approached as slowly and nosily as I could, aware that any moment could be my last once it saw me.”

“Did it? See you?” Rushdi whispered.

She nodded solemnly. “I could see the fear in its eyes when it realized it was now the cornered one. I slowly knelt down and crawled forward until I could reach the trap, waiting for it to snap at me, rip me to shreds,” the intensity of her voice was ringing in the silent room, but neither noticed “when I touched the trap, it tried, but Mulan distracted it. It couldn’t snap at both of us, so when I went to try to release the trap, she would move in. There were a few times we pushed too close. It got my cloak once, tore it nearly in half. When I finally got the trap off Mulan dragged me away, and the yagoai limped off. She and I have been friends ever since.”

Rushdi was floored by such bravery. He’d heard of yagoai, and seen depictions of their size and ferocity. That this little slip of a woman had taken one on astounded him. He was about to ask her about her male guard, when she yawned. She tried to hide it from him, turning away, but he was aware of the hour, and to an extent, what she had gone through today. She must be exhausted, and was trying to keep her mind awake and wits about her. He stood up, nearly bowing before remembering himself. She was only here for one more night.

He turned to leave, before stopping at the door. “Sleep well tonight. Tomorrow you will tell my son another story,” he said.


	3. Chapter 3

Rushdi stayed awake that night, lost in thinking over his decision to let Belle—The Princess—live. It wouldn’t do for Bae to get attatched to someone who was going to leave. As Caliph, his word was law, her life was in his hands to do what he wished with. Why would any woman willingly come forward? He hadn’t known that, or that she’d disobeyed her father. He’d only known she would be arriving. He’d expected tears, resistance, pleading for mercy. Not dancing, laughing and stories for his son. He hadn’t thought she’d be… anything like what she was.

He cut off that trailing thought before it took him somewhere he was unwilling to go. He threw himself onto his large bed, newly aware of its emptiness. Empty on a wedding night, the thought twisted his mouth to a scowl. Today seemed to be a day of bent customs and broken expectations. Starting with that bow, and… and ending with him, awake and wondering.

Despite the softness of his bed, he lay awake, tossing and turning until the night sky lightened with the dawn. He waited and watched the shadows in his room give way to familiar surroundings. When the gold changed to light blue, almost a dusty blue this morning, he gave up any hope of sleep. He struggled to rise, shuffling to his feet and sending Dove away to bring him breakfast. He splashed cold water on his face before pulling off his clothes from the night before. The morning still held the chill of night, and he shivered as he ran the sponge over his lean frame. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror he grimaced. Lean indeed. He couldn’t recall the last proper meal he’d had. Last night’s feast had been wasted on him. It meant his servants were well fed at least, and well fed servants were usually happier.

He rubbed lotion into his skin, trying to ward of the desert’s dryness, more out of self preservation than vanity. The familiar routine soothed his frazzled thoughts, and he let his mind drift for a few moments before perusing his wardrobe. As he dressed for the day, he looked around, expecting and not seeing his most loyal guard. His breakfasts, when he had them, were simple. Fruits, perhaps fresh bread and honey, which shouldn’t take terribly long to gather. Where was Dove?

He buttoned up his shirt and threw on a jacket, not bothering with shoes as he left his chambers in search of his guard. He passed many lower guards, not stopping to acknowledge them. When he finally arrived to the kitchens, he was shocked. Dove was here, but so was his son. Both were looking over the shoulder of the Belle—his wife—the _Princess_ as she kneaded something on the flour covered counter. She seemed to be elbow deep in soft dough, flour covering the front of her dress as well as most of her arms. She laughed at something his son said before teasing him. “Is the oil ready?” she called to the cook, who nodded and bowed, a odd, jerking gesture not suited to someone with limited natural grace.

Nodding to Baelfire, she bent closer to him and demonstrated how she was pinching off balls of dough before flattening them quickly with the expertise of much practice. His son giggled as the dough stuck to his palms, and Belle smiled and showed him how to cover his hands with flour to keep the dough from sticking. Once they made a dozen or so, Belle and Baelfire, with the assistance of a solemn Dove, carried the dough balls to the pan with oil. “Little Caliph, who’s joy shines brighter than the summer son, be careful not to let the oil splash you. Do not throw it in, drop it, like,” she picked out a dough ball and placed it on the surface of the oil before letting go. “This.”

Baelfire could barely see into the pan, so Belle instructed for a small chair to be brought over for him to stand on. Delighted, Baelfire became a little too enthusiastic, accidentally dropping a dough ball to high. He avoided the splash, but the Princess didn’t. She backed away instinctively, hissing in pain as she struck at the drops, as though trying to brush them off. “I’m sorry Princess Belle! It was an accident!”

“Little Caliph, may your mind be as sharp as a warrior’s blade,” Rushdi felt oddly pleased that she seemed to struggle to speak so eloquently, through her teeth because of the pain. “This,” she nodded at the arm she was holding “Is nothing. When I was younger I used to burn myself often while I was cooking with my mother. I was much too impatient to wait for food to cool.”

“Sometimes I am the same way. Papa doesn’t like it. He worries a lot,” The last words were spoken softly, as an aside. “Sometimes it scares me.” Rushdi made a fist against the wall. He tried to keep Baelfire away from the stress and intrigues at court, away from him when he could feel his control slipping, but it hadn’t worked. He’d failed, and his son was afraid of him. He left to return to his room, willing to sacrifice his pride for a happy morning for his son.

^^^^^

Noon found him wandering the halls, a dutiful Dove trailing behind him. He had no direction, only wanting to spend time active in some way, even if it was superficial. Passing one of the smaller courtyards, he realized he heard sounds of fighting. Sword on sword, gasps and grunts of effort, and he turned to follow the sound. Under a haphazardly erected canopy two figures were sparring. Both were smaller than the normal soldier, and fought with leather and padding instead of full armor. They both moved with a dancer’s grace, and one he recognized as the female guard of Princess Belle, Mulan. She must have found a sparring partner, and was idling the day with them instead of attending to her charge. He sneered at that, until he saw the man as well, observing with a critical eye the two fighters. Before his mid could realize it, Mulan had disarmed the other fighter, knocking her helmet off in the process, and spun her around with her blade to her throat.

Belle, her face pink with effort, was breathing hard, her eyes wide with surprise and was looking right at him. His—the princess was a remarkable fighter, if the last few moments were any indication. She looked away and reached up to tap Mulan’s arm through her vambrace, stepping away as the arm was lowered. She looked around for her sword, freezing when she realized it was near him. Mulan and the male guard, Leroy, straightened to attention when they realized their audience. Rushdi told himself he imagined any resentment stemming from Leroy’s posture.

“Princess,” Rushdi said in lieu of greeting. “You’re rather busy this morning.”

“Oh Caliph, may your honey bees be diligent and productive,” her mouth twitched in a suppressed laugh before she composed herself “Every morning is a blessing, and we must make the most of it while we can.”

If it weren’t for her smile, or the calm tone she spoke with, he would have thought her words accusatory. As things were, they were cutting, and he felt every second of his morning as wasteful expenditure. He would say he was getting used to the stretched, silent lulls in conversation with her, but they were every bit as uncomfortable as they had always been. Leroy shared a glance with Mulan, and Belle bit her lip before continuing. “Mulan began training me after the incident with the yagoai. Leroy’s school of thought is variety is the spice of battle.”

Rushdi laughed at her quip, a short, hoarse shouting laugh that surprised him. “I’ll leave you to your studies, Princess.” He gave her a short bow in farewell and turned to leave, before calling over his shoulder. “I invite you to my table tonight, for dinner, if you’ve of a mind to join me.”

His casual glance caught her nod before she bent to pick up her sword and return to sparring.

^^^^^

Dusk found Rushdi pacing in his chambers, a quiet Baelfire watching with wide, dark eyes. “Papa, are you alright?”

The worried words brought Rushdi back to himself and he turned to face his son. “I’m alright Bae. I didn’t mean to trouble you.” He sat down at the table, sinking into one of the plush pillows he’d had arranged around the table.

“Are you nervous?”

“Of course not.” Rushdi tried to soften his words with a smile “Why would you ask that?”

“Because Princess Belle is really pretty,” Bae said matter-of-factly.

Rushdi lied through is teeth “I hadn’t noticed.”

Fortunately any response Bae was about to give was interrupted by the arrival of the Princess. Overjoyed, Baelfire jumped up to grab her hand and drag her to the table, where he deposited her as best as he could into the pillow next to him. “Eat!” he cried, digging into the rich meal.

Heasitantly Belle reached for a bowl of figs, plucking out one and biting into it carefully, eyeing the rest of the table as though she wasn’t sure where to start first. Bae pushed a bowl of rice towards her and spooned some mangoes onto it “This is the best way to eat rice,” he said, scooping up the sticky grains with his fingers.

Belle giggled at him and followed suit, all while Rushdi observed carefully. He was paying attention now, to the thin wrists, the slight darkening under her eyes, the relish with which she enjoyed her simple fare, possible signs of malnourishment. “Princess, are things well in the Marshlands?” he asked.

Belle finished chewing her bite before answering. “Caliph, may your nightly rest be peaceful, the Marshlands are as thriving as they always have.” She took another bite of rice and mango, and he noticed she licked the pads of her fingers, as though she was trying to savor every last bite. He didn’t interrupt her meal again, preferring to let her and his son talk. He finally admitted to himself that he was impressed with her creativity, for he had yet to hear her repeat a blessing. When they finished their meal, Baelfire grabbed her sticky hand in his and pulled her away, yelling a hasty “goodnight” over his shoulder to his father. Belle didn’t even have time to properly finish her farewell, though he heard it echo in the hall. He almost said a farewell in return before catching himself.

This was getting dangerous.


	4. Chapter 4

Rushdi found himself standing outside his son’s chambers again. He wasn’t sure what this story was about, but there was a young lad named Peter who was trying to save his true love. If he wasn’t so enraptured by her voice he would scoff at the idea. Peter was some sap who was sacrificing himself for a woman who—“And as she held his body, her tears fell onto the wound left by the blade washing away the poison. Breath and life returned to him, and when his eyes fluttered open, he said to her ‘Don’t weep. Death cannot stop true love.’”

Bae sighed, and Rushdi looked into the room as best he could, trying to see what was going on through the slightly open door. He could see Bae, leaning against Belle’s shoulder. Belle ran her fingers through Bae’s soft curls, and for a moment Rushdi wished himself in his son’s place. Before that thought could take root, he all but ran down the hall.

He came up on Mulan and Leroy as they walked towards their Lady’s chamber. He hid in a niche before they could see him and followed behind them as silently as he was able to. When they disappeared into her room, he cursed as he heard the door click shut. Making sure no one was around, he snuck close and pressed his ear to the door. The thick wood made hearing any conversation impossible other than occasional low rumblings.

He threaded his fingers harshly through his hair, using the pain to center his rambling thoughts. The scene he’d intruded on ran through his head; Bae so content, Belle with her fingers through his hair, her voice weaving a story in the air. Bae, who was lonely in this opulent palace, Belle, who was waiting to die.

A soft cough jerked him unpleasantly from his thoughts. He lowered his hands and locked eyes with Belle. “Yes?” he breathed.

“Caliph, who’s devotion to his son rivals the tides to the moon, are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” he sputtered “Why are you here?”

She gave him a critical, studying look. “Caliph, may your life be full of summers, I am here to retire for the evening,” at his vacant stare, she looked nervously around. “I’ve just left your son, may his dreams be as sweet as dates, to sleep the night away.”

He watched her standing there, fresh and innocent, and he held his life in her hands. He complete power over her fate, and she met his eye more often than those in his court who had more favor. His law was meant to guard his heart, anger still boiled in his veins, still demanded retribution.

He held out his arm to her, waiting for her to take it before commanding her “Walk with me.”


	5. Chapter 5

Belle’s hold on the Caliph’s arm was tentative, as though half of her was ready to break away and run at the slightest provocation. Thoughts, dark and worrisome bogged down her mind. She was already living on borrowed time, and her imminent death hung around her neck like a millstone. Their footsteps whispered against the floor as the Caliph lead them through the halls. The knots she’d been carrying in her chest and stomach tightened, threatening to choke the air from her lungs. She partially acknowledged they were on a terrace overlooking one of the smaller gardens when he stopped and stepped away from her.

The silence dragged between them while she waited for him to address her. The ragged gasping breaths could have been his, or hers, she couldn’t rightfully tell. When he finally spoke, it was low and hesitant.

“Princess Belle. My son is very fond of your stories, no?”

Words stuck on the knots in her chest, so she simply nodded.

“Your execution was stayed once. Perhaps I could convince you to agree to an arrangement to delay it further.”

Hope and despair warred in her stomach, churning and turning, making her dizzy.

“For every night my son is pleased with your story, I will delay your execution another night. If you upset him, your life is forfeit.” He stepped back, watching her. “And if you threaten his safety, or my own, I will not hesitate to kill you myself.”

Strangely, his last threat soothed her. She had no designs on his life, or his son’s. No intention of usurping his power or control. “Caliph, may your gardens be forever fruitful, I understand,” she lowered herself to her customary bow before he grabbed her arm, stopping her.

“Why must you do that?” he hissed. “As a Princess of the Marshlands, you do not need to bow so low. You are a noble!”

“Caliph, may your trees be fruitful and give you cool shade, I am neither your equal, a higher noble, or one well acquainted with the traditions and fashions of court. I bow to you as one bows to another who holds their life.”

“As a peasant…or a slave then?” the muscles of his jaw rolled as he grit his teeth. His displeasure was palpable, but Belle held her head high. “Are my distant courts so different from my home, that this is a common practice?”

Sighing, Belle shook her head, about to speak when the Caliph interrupted “Not a common practice, just how it is, since you came to your death.” Belle nodded, and bit back a response at the anger the Caliph held in. “Go to your chambers. I will send servants to escort you to my son’s room tomorrow. You are free to roam about the palace as you wish.” He turned and stalked away, leaving Belle alone in the moonlight.

^^^^^

When she broke the news to her guards, Leroy could not contain his joy, scooping her up in a hug and spinning her around and around. Mulan was less expressive, but just as happy. Belle thought she may have seen a bright sheen of tears in her friend’s eye. “So, you just need to keep his son happy?”

“It’s not like that. I’m essentially his royal storyteller,” a sock to his arm emphasized her words. “It’s actually rather perfect. Since I’m not acting as the Calipha, I have much more freedom, and then I get to tell stories for a very captive audience.”

“You’re happy then?” Mulan asked, a hand on Belle’s shoulder stilling any hasty response.

“Yes, I am.”

The three friends stayed up late, the relief of the pardon keeping them awake well past any other inhabitants of the palace.

All except for one. A tall woman, thin, her mouth twisted in a cruel sneer, was pacing in her chambers, mulling over the news one of her faithful spies had brought to her. The Caliph— _her_ Caliph—was going to remain wed to this back-country princess! She’d waited so long, and worked her way past the stigma of her position, only to be thwarted by a nobody who would never, could never understand the Caliph.

She wouldn’t stand for it, and if she played her cards right, she wouldn’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on finding inspiration to get back into this. Prompts and questions are more than welcomed.


End file.
